


Which Witch

by Sylphidine_Gallimaufry



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blacksand - Freeform, M/M, Mistaken Identity, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:00:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29246964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylphidine_Gallimaufry/pseuds/Sylphidine_Gallimaufry
Summary: You've heard there's a witch in the woods, and your curiosity leads you on a circular journey.
Relationships: Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie
Kudos: 3





	Which Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [on Tumblr.](https://sylphidine.tumblr.com/post/642393766372753408/rotg-which-witch) Written for the ROTG Bingo 2021 Challenge, Prompt: Hermit In The Woods AU.

“No, I’m not the one you’re looking for,” groaned the tall, dark, and austerely gorgeous man standing in the doorway of the cottage in the forest. "Why does everyone think that just because a person lives alone and prefers dusk and shadows to sunshine, they _must_ be a witch?"

He extended his long, graceful, black-clad arm and pointed deeper into the woods. "It's that endlessly chirping woman with the thousand fledglings you want." And with that the door was slammed in your face. 

So you had no choice except to wander further down the path. Eventually you came upon what looked to be a house built into the trunk of a tree, with impossible turrets and balconies ascending higher than your eyes could see. 

The petitely lovely woman who leaned over the sill high above you titters at your inquiry. “No, I’m not the one you’re looking for. Why does everyone think that just because a person has wings and an eidetic memory, they must be a witch?”

She fluttered down to your eye level and pointed to a hummock in the middle of a field, just short of the horizon. “That’s where you want to go, as long as you don’t mind eggs on legs.” And with that she took to the skies and was soon out of sight.

So you stumped along for far longer than you expected towards the hummock, with the forest at your back. Eventually you found yourself not stumbling over a hummock, but sliding down a tunnel into what surely was a completely unknown world underground. 

A ridiculously elegant rabbit sat on a riverbank, mixing paints on his palette. He looked at you with a humorous glint in his brilliantly green eyes. “Nah, mate, I’m not the one you want.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Too warm down here for witches, for a start. You want somewhere cold. Head into the mountains and stop at the first castle on the left. Happens that’s the _only_ castle on the left. But she’ll be apples.”

So, after a long haul back to the surface, you turned in yet another direction and trod up and up and up and up steep slopes thick with fir trees. Eventually you did indeed spot the only castle on the left, which made up for its solitude with attitude, built right into a cliff face.

The burly, bearded rake who answered your bell-pull greeted you by lifting you off your feet, crushing your ribs with a hug, and offering you fruitcake in the space of fewer seconds than it would take you to write a sentence full of those actions. He shook with laughter when addressed with your question, and replied, “ _Nyet_ , you seek one who is not me. Just because I am big and intimidating and can leave toys for every child on Earth without being seen, for this people think I am witch? _Nyet_. You want to go where trees meet sky and call the Wind to you.”

So, without any real notion of how to find such a place, you let your feet lead you and let your mind wander. Eventually you ended up by a half-frozen lake which indeed reflected the ring of birches surrounding it and the blue vault about it.

That blue was repeated in the old, old eyes of a twig-limbed youth who leaned against a slender trunk, holding a shepherd’s crook in one hand and the Wind in the other. “So you’re looking for a witch. Cool. It’s not me, by the way, but I can definitely introduce you. Think you can keep up?”

And with that you found yourself running, and laughing as you ran, and your fleetness on the ground matched his fleetness in the air, and you somehow did not tire or stumble, even as the trees grew taller and stood more thickly together, and you found yourself back in the same wooded glade where you had first started your journey.

A trail of gold dust on the forest floor led straight to a familiar cottage. The flying boy bid you adieu.

The door was flung open in response to your timorous tap, and the tall, dark and austere man first glowered, and then closed his shining eyes and pinched the bridge of his mighty nose in exasperated resignation. A gleaming dapper figure of a shorter man, garbed in cloth of gold with a waistcoat fearfully and wonderfully made, shot through with metallic embroidery, appeared at the side of the gangling and gorgeous hermit. He waggled his fingers at you in a friendly way.

The hermit looked down at the shorter man, then at you. He spat out, “For the 269th time, I am _NOT_ the witch. _He’s_ the witch!”

And then he sighed. “You might as well come in for tea.” They both stepped aside to let you pass. As you entered, you heard this exchange behind you.

“You know, there’s worse things than being a hermit with friends.”

“Oh, hush, or I’ll nail you in the back with another harpoon.”

“Promises, promises.”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [a thread on Twitter](https://twitter.com/JohannesEvans/status/1350968549263765516) posted by [ Johannes Evans](https://twitter.com/JohannesEvans).


End file.
